


The "100 Ways to Say I Love You" List

by aestherisms



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anxiety, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, NSFW
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 13:59:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 17
Words: 9,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4708514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aestherisms/pseuds/aestherisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a list of 100 ways to tell someone you love them. Sasha McCoy and Lykos have always, in ways, been made to love each other. Sometimes it's Sasha, sometimes it's Lykos--and sometimes it's both at once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. “Pull over.  Let me drive for awhile.”

It's 3am, and they've been driving for five hours. Well--Lykos has been. Sasha tends to be softer with allowing the other to make vaguely bad choices, so long as no one gets hurt in the process. This particular bad choice being that Lykos doesn't have his glasses, and got behind the wheel like he intended to stay there a good long while. They're going down 85 when Sasha glances over and sees the other shift in his seat just barely and take hand off the wheel for a moment to rub at his eye. Sasha had been vaguely sleepy--but drifting into a nap had chased that away, and now--god, Lykos is stubborn. "Mm, kitten?" A quiet murmur; enough to pull Lykos' attention to him as they pass a rest-stop.   
  
Lykos doesn't speak--instead turns his head slightly; brow raised in a silent sort of curiosity. The writer settles a hand on his fiance's thigh; thumb tracing soft circles against warmth of limb as he leans over and presses a quiet, unobtrusive kiss to Lykos' shoulder. "Pull over, aye?" Sasha asks; warm smile in response to the quiet half-sound Lykos gives him, "let me drive a while?" There's a pause--Lykos makes a sound like nearly a protest, and Sasha squeezes softly with his hand; gentle patience to wait out what feels like an inevitable attempt from Lykos to dissuade him. It doesn't come, though--and Sasha feels a sweet pang of pride catch him just under the sternum when Lykos nods.


	2. “It reminded me of you.”

Lykos has missed him. He'd _missed_ Sasha--and Sasha hadn't expected that. The other was...different, than anyone Sasha had ever met; dedicated, it seemed, to a low-level of quiet irritation all the time. Lykos didn't seem to _want_ anything more than sex and conversation--until Sasha got home from two weeks out of country. Exhausted, pulling up into his drive--and Lykos was there; leaning against the brick next to the door, hands in pockets and head down. He'd looked up at the sound of tires on pavement--and Sasha's heart caught a quiet pang of confusion...and understanding.   
  
"Thought you left." That's all Lykos says; pushing off from the wall with a roll of shoulders as Sasha approaches; tired eyes full of warmth, bag slung over shoulder. "Thought--I dunno." Lykos shakes his head; bites off his statement at the quick, and looks down for a second before vaguely worried blue eyes beneath furrowed brow look up at the writer. Sasha--is tired, yes; Lykos infinitely more important as a person than any form of rest could be in this moment. A hand settles on Lykos' shoulder; thumb along collarbone as an absent sort of reassurance, and Sasha nods towards the door.   
  
"C'mon, aye?" It's a quiet offer, and Lykos barely pauses before he accepts; only vague askance in his eyes when Sasha unlocks the door and leads him in with a hand curled around the other man's perpetually overwarm wrist. Sasha drops his bag by the coatrack next to the door, pausing to dip and retrieve a small package from it before he continues on in his silent leadership. Lykos doesn't seem to be one for words, so far, and Sasha is fine with that when jet-lag has taken firm hold of his existence.   
  
They find the couch together; Sasha settling and tugging Lykos down next to him before curling an arm around the other man's broad shoulders. "I did leave," he replies, finally, kiss to Lykos' temple. It's perhaps slightly too much affection, given how they usually are with each other--but Lykos leans into it with a quiet breath of sound. "'M back, though," Sasha says softly, "funny thing 'bout takin' trips for work--y'always come home."   
  
Lykos snorts, nudges him and uses the momentum to lean in closer. Clever boy, Sasha thinks; presenting the package in his free hand. "Got y'sommat, too." Lykos hums a sound; takes the package with curious fingers as he mumbles something about how Sasha didn't have to. "I ken I didn't," the writer says; watching with a soft smile as Lykos configures the string and paper away, revealing a book; the title ' _A Wolf Called Romeo_ ' softly staring up at them. "Reminded me of you," Sasha tells him; laughs when Lykos looks up at him with smile twitching at his mouth, "y'gotta have some kinda wolf in y', with a smile like you have." A kiss, and Lykos huffs a laugh into it; curling the sound down into a flustered sort of thing when Sasha coaxes fingertips along the other's jawline and murmurs "beautiful lad."


	3. “Come here.  Let me fix it.”

"It's just a broken hand," Lykos grumbles; shifting next to Sasha uncomfortably as he tries in vain to straighten his tie, "been doin' this _tie_ shit for a long fuckin' time, shouldn't be this _hard_ just 'cause..." He trails off into frustrated mumbles; Sasha catching a fond smile as he secures his hair back and out of his face and turns to the demon. "It looks...good. Right?" Lykos asks him--sounding thoroughly unconvinced as he gestures at the decidedly crooked knot. "It's fine," he tells the writer, "no one will even _notice_."

Sasha snorts softly; hand between them and fingers curling in a quiet come-here motion. "Looks lovely," he says; mirth present in his eyes, "like th'art Madylyn gives y' sometimes--that kinda lovely." It's a playful tease, and Lykos knows it; makes a noise in response that's mostly air combined with amused frustration. "C'mere, kitten," Sasha coaxes, half-laugh trapped between his teeth, "lemme fix it, aye?" Lykos looks for a moment like he might protest, and Sasha allows for patience to tick slow along with the seconds that it takes the other to come stand before him.

"'S stupid," the demon says; head tipped back just slightly to allow for Sasha to have space to loosen the knot and pull the fabric free. The writer does, gently, and settles hands on Lykos' shoulders to coax the man into turning to face the mirror. Sasha steps close; body-against-body, and configures collar and tie into getting along before he sets into work. Easy, practiced motions; he glances up at the mirror as he works, and catches Lykos' gaze with a soft smile.

"Is not," Sasha hums in response; tightening what needs tightening, and coasting fingers and palm softly down Lykos' chest and abdomen to settle the fabric. "'S okay t'need help, kitten," he tells the other; soft kiss pressed to Lykos' neck, "y'look fuckin' gorgeous, by th'by." He means it every time he says it--and Lykos knows he's pretty, sure, but it still gets a beautiful flush on sunset skin, and Lykos directing a gaze down at the floor as a smile tugs at his mouth. Sasha settles arms around his lover, then, and nuzzles soft at the back of the other's neck as he murmurs "thanks for bein' my date t'this wedding."

"Had no choice, Sash." Lykos sounds amused; relaxed as he leans back against the writer and into the sweetness of the taller man's kisses-on-skin, "couldn't make you go on your own."

Sasha laughs, and bites him softly--because he can, and because Lykos' startled sound, curling low into a hum of quiet pleasure sounds like music. "Wee shite," the writer says; kisses over the spot like an apology, "c'mon--'s get goin', aye? Broken hand or not, y'owe me a dance."


	4. “I’ll walk you home.”

Sasha has never had a crush. Or--more accurately, he's never _acted on_ having a crush. People come and go--are pretty, are smart, are funny. The hallmark things that everyone looks for in a person--the three things that everyone will tell their partner when said partner is unsure of why they ended up being a partner at all. But Lykos--Lykos is a million things and more; Sasha becomes acutely aware of how young he is around the other boy, how much he _doesn't know_. Not because Lykos makes him feel stupid, but because Sasha James gets so _tangled up_ in him so quickly, and he's left stunned and breathless, without the words to describe how he feels. He thinks this is probably because he just doesn't know the words yet--but his father feels the same way when he looks at Sasha's mother, and James McCoy is well into his fifties by now.

Sasha has also never been on a date. Before now, before tonight, dates were things everyone else would go on, while Sasha stayed at home and helped Beth with the cooking or the gardening. But Beth had encouraged him to go--she would be fine tending to tomatoes on her own, Lykos is a nice boy, Sasha should wear his blue button-up and his charcoal vest; they bring out his eyes. Sasha tends to protest that anything brings out his eyes--because that would mean admitting that his eyes are nice enough to warrant being brought out, and he'd rather stay as far as possible away from the idea that he's pretty.

Lykos tells him he's pretty a _lot_ , and god if that doesn't make Sasha feel a strange flipping sensation in his stomach. Lykos also brushes hair out of his eyes a lot, and laughs like music when Sasha tells terrible jokes, and ends up half-asleep curled up with his head on Sasha's chest when they _should_ be doing homework, but got distracted by a film on TV. Lykos kisses him not a minute after they met to go on this date, and tells Sasha that he'd wanted to do it for months now. "You could've," Sasha supplies softly; shiness working under his skin and lighting up his eyes as he looks down and toys with a thread come loose on his vest, "y'ken I'd never say no t'y'kissin' me."

Lykos grins, and winds an arm around Sasha's waist; tugs him close gently and brushes fingertips almost wonderingly along the taller boy's jawline. "You're fuckin' beautiful, y'know that?" he asks--Sasha makes a borderline ugly groaning noise, and rests forehead against Lykos' shoulder; chases Lykos laughing at him with a soft poke to the other boy's abdomen. "Don't tickle me in public," Lykos tells him; bright-eyed and half-laughing as he catches Sasha's hand and kisses the side of the younger boy's shoulder, "I have a reputation, McCoy."

"Y'have a rep for bein' a wee _shite_ ," Sasha quips; playful reprimand of a bite to Lykos' shoulder before he pulls back with body, but not hand. He entwines their fingers gently, looks down at the points of warm contact, and smiles softly; grin tugging into a laugh when Lykos shifts closer and kisses his cheek. Now that they've started, it seems they don't want to _stop_ , and Sasha's laugh curls into a snort as he says "c'mon, petal--we have class early. I'll walk y'home."


	5. “Have a good day at work.”

Mornings can be hectic, sometimes. Alarms don't go off, dogs and cats rip up Sasha's papers--he makes copies, so he doesn't mind the loss as much as the mess. Traffic predictions are awful, bed is too warm and too tempted to get out of until the last possible moment. It doesn't help that Lykos doesn't _have_ work today--doesn't need to be out of bed until at least noon, when Beth is supposed to show up to talk about the wedding with him. The demon wakes up when Sasha does--rare that he gets sleep when the writer isn't around--and Sasha laughs when he realises he's completely and utterly _trapped_. "C'mon, kitten," he protests, definitely unwilling to move as much as Lykos is unwilling to release him, "I'm t'be at work in an hour."

"Mmh," Lykos replies intelligently; nuzzling against Sasha's neck and pressing heat of kisses to skin, "stay? Jus'...jus' a while." Sasha knows what Lykos' version of _jus' a while_ is--and he makes for a gentle, half-attempt at a protest that ends up cut off with a quiet sound when Lykos' kisses become bites. They're gentle things--grazes of _fangs_ , and Lykos...god, really knows how to play Sasha like a fiddle. The writer shivers out a low sound as Lykos slips a hand down his body; quiet chuckle breaking from him as the demon murmurs "could go now, if y'wanted." Could he? Could he _really_? Sasha doesn't believe him at all; shifts to press Lykos back against the bed and pin him with easy weight and warm skin-on-skin. He bites soft at the curve of the other's collarbone; and kisses the lowness of moan from Lykos' mouth before he speaks.

"Ten minutes," Sasha breathes into the kiss; teeth capturing Lykos' lower lip as he tugs there softly, soothes tongue over the spot like an apology for roughness even when he knows Lykos loves it. "Think I can give y'what y'want in ten minutes?" Sasha knows he can--and Lykos is still warm and sleepy-soft; arches up against Sasha as the writer presses hips down in a slow grind of sensation. A nod from Lykos, full lips parting on a shaky gasp when Sasha dips to bite at the other's neck and pour a low growl against skin. The writer takes advantage of open mouth; comes up to watch his lover's dark gaze on his own as he slips two fingers past lips and murmurs "suck for me, kitten."

God, and Lykos does--he always does so well with what Sasha asks, even when he's achingly hard between them and squirming against both hot body and cool sheets. Sasha's other hand finds lube, and then its way down to _touch_ , lending brushes of fingers against his lover's body as he speaks. "Want me t'touch y'like this, sweet boy?" the writer breathes; nuzzles at the curve of Lykos' jawline, "want me t'make y'come so hard y'cry for me? Christ--I ken I could. 'Specially with how _squirmy_ m'pretty boy is for me."

Lykos makes a needy, tortured sound around Sasha's fingers; curls his tongue like desire, and pants out a low whine when Sasha curls warm, slick fingers around heat and starts up a slow, firm rhythm. It's easy to fall into the way Sasha does this; thumb passing over the head of Lykos' cock as he fucks the other man's mouth with patient, even presses of fingers. "'S it, love," the writer bites a rough sort of murmur against the other's jaw between bites, "'s a good boy, y'take what your Sir gives y' so well." 

The response from Lykos is a movement something like begging; shaky twitch upwards of hips and head tipped back against the pillow--Sasha takes the barest of seconds to bite at the line of his throat, and _grin_. He takes his hand away from between them for only the barest of seconds; slips it beneath his lover and curls _nails_ against spine as he shifts the demon down the bed, closer to him. Lykos' sound is beautiful; sharply whined _plea_ when Sasha returns his hand between them--the writer slips fingers from the other's mouth and kisses the sound away from slick, friction red lips.

"Y'pretty thing," Sasha praises; smokey voice pulled into honey heat between biting dark marks along the line of his lover's throat, "g'wan, fuck into it like a good lad." It's encouragement, and Lykos lending shivery breaths between cries-out as he moves into the touch; erratic shifts of hips with each squirm _fuck_ into sensation. A press down of hips--god, it's all slick _heat_ , and Sasha moves into it with his own outpour of sound; Lykos catching what he's doing and keening roughly as he moves. Lykos being against him is where Sasha feels they _belong_ in moments like this; the building of desire, of flames licking at skin, and the demon making sounds like desperation curling out of beautiful mouth.

Sasha catches the cuss before it slips from him; curls it into a growl with each shift of hips and kiss bitten to Lykos' jawline and neck. "Y'gettin' close for me, pet?" The writer feels more like _control_ now; like each work of body is getting Lykos closer; coaxing the heat from their bodies to exist between them instead as he breathes "god, y'get so fuckin' pretty like this, petal." He bites into a kiss; the space between them crackling with tension and the curling of pleasure at spines. Lykos has always reacted beautifully to touch, and this moment is no exception; the gasped sounds, the way he _sobs_ and squirms hard when Sasha slows everything down to roll his hips hot and steady for friction only catching the sensitive undersides of lengths.

" _Please--_ " Lykos keens the word; shaking trapped under his skin that moves sweetly into full-body tremors, "Sir--nn _hah_ , 'm c-close." His hands in sheets were bound to lead to the tearing of fabric eventually--Sasha grins sharply as he pants into the space between them and hears the first note of sheets coming apart under his lover's touch. Lykos gets nearly incoherent with how much he craves the release, at this point; hips jerking up into contact with tiny shivery motions, sounds borderline desperate as he arches up against Sasha and _moans_.

"Aye," Sasha, half-breathless, manages to murmur against Lykos' mouth; "aye petal--christ, y'can come for me." He presses back into it with an even rhythm of hot, slick palm; and encourages sounds and _motion_ from Lykos as he gets them both there with even-timed curlings of _pleasure_.

When it's done, and Lykos is breathless and near-wordless beneath him, Sasha laughs; a quiet, out-of-it chuckle as he shifts to lie next to his lover and coax the man into his arms. "C'mere, sweetheart," he murmurs; hand into Lykos' hair as he catches his breath and presses kisses to the other's sweat-damp forehead, "still have three 'f those minutes." Lykos makes a sound akin to reluctance to do anything but be hazy, and Sasha nods, as though the other has let him in on a great secret of life. "Aye, I ken," gets the writer a quiet chuckle, "couldn't've said it better m'self."

"Shut up," Lykos mumbles; presses a kiss to Sasha's collarbone to soothe the sting of words, "go t'work." Sasha laughs again--this time much more musical and warm, and tugs a lock of his lover's hair as he nuzzles into the dark curls. Lykos curls closer; arm around Sasha's middle, and mumbles "have a good day." As if Lykos plans to let him go--god, Sasha has never been more okay with being trapped anywhere.


	6. “I dreamt about you last night.”

Lykos standing behind Sasha and resting chin on shoulder only ever works when Sasha is sitting down. Lykos acts like he hates it--until moments where the demon feels like being small is safer; curls into the warm strength of Sasha's arms, and finds solace in head over heart. Now, though--now, the demon is affectionate and sweet about it; standing behind the writer with a hand over the man's heart as he nuzzles into the warmth at the juncture of Sasha's neck and shoulder.

"'Lo, you," Sasha greets; hand over the other's as he leans back into the comfortable contact, "how'd y'sleep?" It's not often the demon actually sleeps; tends to lie in bed and rest instead--it was a pleasant sort of surprise when Sasha had managed to get Lykos to _actually_ nap. Now, the demon is sleep-soft and warm; quiet kisses to skin as Sasha closes his eyes and takes in the comfort that being around his lover offers. "Y'were out a full ten hours," the writer murmurs; fondness in his gaze when he looks up at Lykos and smiles quietly.

"Mm, was good," Lykos replies; thunderstorm voice the very song of home to Sasha, "had a dream 'bout you last night, though. Around...midnight 'r so." Sasha turns in his seat just enough to offer Lykos a hand, and tips his head in a _c'mere_ motion; clear offer for contact. Lykos doesn't hesitate; instead comes around the couch and settles against Sasha's side; head resting at the curve of the writer's shoulder and arm idly across waist. He blinks up at the writer sleepily; blue eyes vaguely hazy with want for rest--and Sasha huffs a quiet laugh as he nuzzles to rest nose in the man's messy hair.

"Still a wee bit sleepy, kitten?" he asks--Lykos shakes his head, but Sasha knows better. He tugs the blanket down off the back of the couch; over Lykos and partially himself as he picks up the book he'd settled on his lap moments ago. "How 'bout I read t'y', aye? 'Nd y'can tell me all 'bout that dream when 'm done." _When you wake up_ , is the quiet undertone--and Lykos hums lowly as he nuzzles closer; a great kitten of a man that Sasha could never for a moment want to be rid of.


	7. “Take my seat.”

McCoy birthdays tend to be chaotic. Much moreso when you add that the McCoy in question is only seven--as are her multitudes of friends. The whole lot of them have taken over the lakehouse; parental presence dotted here and there as an attempt is made to corral as many of the children into a vaguely similar space as humanly possible. The problem is that four of them want to swim, a half dozen want to hike, three are fans of bug-collecting and have deemed a clearing five minutes into the woods an acceptable hunting ground. They're all spread out like that; the aforementioned thirteen plus the other seventeen that have found their way to the party.

Lykos is wonderful with children--they all are, really, but Lykos has a specific knack for not allowing any of the tiny humans to be lost or damaged in their escapades. He's been running non-stop since this morning, Sasha the same--they've tried in vain to keep everyone in one place and happy for so long that even the immortal man that never sleeps needs a damn break. Sasha is in the middle of comforting someone's child over the fact that another one didn't want to hunt for grasshoppers anymore--and when he looks up and sees Lykos and all of his vague weariness, he smiles softly and stands with said child on his hip.

"C'mon now, lass--y'ken th'boys wanna look for butterflies," he says; smiling softly when she makes a face, "humor 'em for a wee bit?" The child looks very much like she would rather do anything but--and Sasha hums as he taps the very tip of her nose and grins. "How 'bout I help, aye?" he suggests; leans into Lykos' kiss to his cheek with a quick glance at his lover and a smile between them as he continues speaking to the young girl, "we'll go find whatever your heart desires, 'nd see 'bout gettin' th'boys some butterflies?"

She nods much more enthusiastically that time--and Sasha turns his attention for a moment to Lykos as he sets her down. "Y'look a wee bit tired, love," he observes--laughs when Lykos rests head on his shoulder, and groans.

"We're only having four kids _maximum_ ," the demon grumbles as his eyes close for a moment, "maybe five." A pause, Sasha waits; quite smile on his face when Lykos ammends "eight, y'talked me into it."

"Here--c'mere." The writer guides his fiance a ways away from where the young girl waits patiently, and coaxes Lykos into sitting. "Take my seat, yeah? I'll be back in a bit." It's a promise for at least some time spent at this chaos of a party--and Lykos settles back easily with a nod and grateful smile; sound when Sasha strips his own sweater easily from body and hands it other. "'S gonna be gettin' chilly soon," Sasha explains absently as the girl snags his hand and half of his attention. They both know Lykos won't get cold from the sun going down--but it's a sweet sentiment, and Lykos tugs the body-heated clothing on with a quiet smile. The smile grows as Sasha kisses his forehead and laughs, and the girl drags him away to hunt for things that really ought to just be left alone.


	8. “I saved a piece for you.”

Sometimes, the ducklings take hours of Lykos' time. It's never an issue--Sasha has plenty to do, usually; especially today with the immediate family being at their house for dinner. The end of the summer usually sees all of the McCoys getting together in various places; taking advantage of the warmth and free time before everyone has to go back to school and work. The whole day was wonderful--but Sasha was accutely aware of Lykos' absence; feeling strangely colder than usual without the warmth of the other man next to him. There were jokes, laughter; Beth and James talking about Amy's new partner--who everyone else had yet to meet, but the parents assured them all is a good, smart man.

Sasha was at home--perhaps less so with Lykos at work, and by the time the other man gets home, nearly everyone is gone. Dana and Marcus are packing up their things--and their children, who are all either halfway to asleep or fully there, are no help whatsoever. Sasha helps, though--because sleepy as he may be, they're family, and he needs to stay awake to do dishes anyway. They all bid Sasha adieu, and hug Lykos as the demon arrives; make plans for next week in a brief sort of way, and head off with their hoarde of admittedly tiny people. Lykos feels weary on his feet; leaning against Sasha with a quiet sort of noise as the writer curls an arm around him.

Inside the house, and Sasha presses a kiss to the man's temple as they walk to the kitchen in tired silence--Sasha physical, Lykos mental. Lykos finds a spot to settle at the island, and Sasha stands at his side for a moment; arms around him properly as he takes a moment to simply breathe his lover in and welcome him home once more. "Dinner go okay?" Lykos asks; tilts his head up in silent request for a kiss. Sasha hums an affirmative and nods; kiss to Lykos' mouth softly before he pulls back enough to look properly at his lover.

"Well enough," he replies, "could'a used a bit more of you, y'ken." Fingertips to Lykos' mouth to stay the explanation--Sasha simply shakes his head and nuzzles into another soft kiss as he speaks once more. "'S okay that y'had t'work, kitten," the writer assures his lover, "you 'nd I can meet up with 'em this weekend, aye?" A pout surfaces, and Lykos closes his eyes; simply leans in for more kisses as he nods. "Don't y'pout at me, beautiful," Sasha laughs quietly, "come help me with dishes so we can get t'bed?"

There's a pause in which Lykos seems to be completely unwilling to move at all, before he nods and shifts to stand. "I'm still sorry I missed it," the demon says against Sasha's neck; arm around waist as he remains close, "I wanted to be here."

Sasha nods; strokes fingers slow through vaguely tangled curls. "I ken. 'S alright--you'll be here a good long while, I figure," the writer assures his lover, warm smile present, "they wanna see y'--we'll probably do sommat at th'lakehouse next month, too." Lykos simply moves closer--and Sasha huffs a low laugh; maybe Lykos' tiredness _is_ something closer to physical than he assumed. "Dishes can wait," he decides; leading Lykos away from the island, towards the stairs, "so can th'cake, I figure. 'S chocolate, it'll keep in th'fridge a few days." It's _sly_ , and Sasha James knows it--is the most rotten kind of cheater at all games related to _help your spouse clean_. Considering Lykos is the first and only spouse Sasha has ever _had_ \--or wanted--it's a surprise the writer knows what he's doing.

"Cake."

Sasha laughs; feels Lykos' whole world pause for a second to focus on the new desire--rest on hold to make space for chocolate. "Aye love, I saved a piece for y'. But you're _so_ sleepy, I would hate t'keep y' awake for a moment longer." Lykos grumbles; smile tugging at his mouth as he gently nudges Sasha back towards the kitchen. "I figure if you're awake 'nough for cake, you're awake enough t'dry some plates for me," the writer says, smile fond as Lykos quirks a brow up at him and sighs before offering a half smile and nodding.


	9. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

"They were _one off_!"

Sasha can't help the quiet snort that escapes him when Lykos' voice carries from the living room and into the office. He closes his eyes for a moment as a silent laugh catches him; shoulders shaking for the barest of seconds with a wave of mirth before he hears Chris and his father say, in unison, "we're sorry for your loss." A groan from the demon; Afrata echoing the sentiment with a puppy-esque whine _sigh_ , and James' warm laugh--they all carry through and hit Sasha just under the ribs, right next to his heart.

It feels like _family_ , and the writer smiles softly as he puts pen to paper once more and circles another series of regrets. It's not until hours later, when the game is over and the others leave, that he looks back up--attention pulled from fiction back to reality when Lykos all but flops down on the small sofa in Sasha's office that the writer had taken residence upon earlier in the day. "We _lost_ ," Lykos informs him plaintively, "by _one yard_." Sasha snorts; arm up in an offer of cuddles--Lykos tucks himself against the writer's side and makes a quietly unhappy sound.

Sasha simply presses a kiss to Lykos' mess of curly hair, and grins as he says "'m sorry for your loss." Lykos makes an impressively unamused face, and melts a little under Sasha's kiss to his forehead.

"Shut up 'nd kiss me properly," the demon grumbles; proper smile surfacing as Sasha does as asked. He pinches the writer's side when the man laughs--and the kisses become smiles and vague apologies for the devastation that seems to be football and it's scoring system.


	10. “You can have half.”

Fireworks always make the nights better. Especially on a farm--no one around for miles but family and crickets chirping amidst the lazily waving reeds at lakeshore. The McCoys do this every summer; when the hot days turn to cool, peach-laced nights--they all gather blankets, drinks, lawn chairs, and go. They walk--usually to the lake, coming together in a group near the boathouse, and plant themselves like laughing trees while James sets up. Everyone is getting older, though; they all know that this summer may be the last for a while that they all do this, and a note of preparation for nostalgia is soft with its entwining with the scent of the peach trees on the lake's opposite side. Friends of the family come too, sometimes. Dana's friends from school--a shorter boy with dark hair and bright eyes, and a girl who can't speak without stuttering, but sings like the clearest whistle; Beth's sister, Sasha's...acquaintance, and Amy's ' _friend_ '.

The acquaintance and friend happen to be cousins--and also happen to be vaguely viewed in askance whenever they come around. Not because people don't _trust_ them inasmuch that they don't seem to trust each other, and that Sasha is too shy around his boy to be just acquaintances, and Amy's crooked front tooth leaves _very_ distinctive prints on people's necks, especially _her_ boy's neck. Everyone likes them well enough--and Beth and James greet them both as they walk up to the group; wave them towards their respective...people with welcoming smiles.

Amy relegates Nic--the smaller one with haunted eyes and sweet smile--to be her seat; simply shifts and parks it on his lap, coaxing said sweet smile forth when she whispers something no one else but Nic was intended to hear. The boy blushes _brightly_ , and tugs the collar-line of his hoodie up just slightly more on the left side.

Sasha, meanwhile, is much...different. Lykos--same height, much more muscle and less haunting to be seen in his eyes when this many people are around--settles next to him and glances over with the quirk of a brow that Sasha pretends to thoroughly not see. "'M sorry," Lykos tries--and Sasha sighs before the rest of the sentence is out, leans close enough to bump shoulders for a second before he returns to worrying at his lower lip with his teeth and sipping from the can of root-beer he'd been suspiciously waiting to open until Lykos sat next to him.

Beth watches the exchange before glancing up at James--who's doing the same with a soft smile in his eyes. The mother of eight _impossible_ people knows better than to interfere--and a sweet lance of pride catches her when Sasha takes Lykos' hand and turns to look at him properly; all fourteen years old and gangly limbs, smattering of freckles across his nose that underline large, expressive blue eyes. "I'm not _angry_ ," she hears Sasha say--and hides a laugh against James' arm when her son carries on to say "just...don't call me 'legs' in front of professor Wilkins again. It was weird."

Lykos says something in response--too low to be heard with his voice already having curled into a impressive baseline for fifteen. Sasha makes a remarkable face and swats at the other boy; laughter mingling together and building from Sasha as Lykos' fades and is replaces by a sweetly doe-eyed smile. "Oh--" Beth makes a quiet sound and nudges at James; nods towards the boys as the man chuckles and nudges her back. He sees it--and Beth's heart does a pleasantly happy flip when Lykos is caught dead middle of _looking _at Sasha and opts for turning a brilliant shade of flustered.__

Sasha just shakes his head; fond smile returned--god, he looks like his father--and offers the older boy the can of fizz. "Y'can have half?" he offers--shy, sweet; Beth is suddenly, irrevocably _proud_ of her son. Nevermind the daughter she'll likely have to pry off of Nic with a crowbar later--Sasha is her focus for the second, and god, is she ever lucky she was part of making him.


	11. “Take my jacket, it’s cold outside.”

"I'll be back."

Lykos looks up from the book he's been caught up in for hours; glasses slipping precariously closer to the end of his nose as Sasha taps his shoulder and heads towards the front hall; half-distracted mumble to let Lykos know that he intends to come back after his hopefully brief adventure. "Where are you goin'?" Lykos asks; pushing himself into standing and abandoning his book to follow and see just where his lover's vaguely time-pressed excursion is supposed to end him up.

"Ah--th'Marshals have...they think? A bat?" Sasha tells him--which doesn't do Lykos much good, because he doesn't know who the Marshals _are_ , or whether or not having a bat is a good thing in this neighbourhood. The writer catches that and laughs as he slips shoes on; curls a hand at the back of Lykos' neck and draws him in for a quick kiss to forehead before he says "not a good thing--'s wild 'nd in their daughter's room."

Lykos nods; rather intelligent "uh," slipping free before he shakes himself and catches Sasha's wrist with warm hand as the man pulls away. "Take my jacket, yeah?" the demon offers--because he rarely sees Sasha _running_ like this, and it's sweet, but Lykos would much rather him come home safe and also warm. "It's cold outside."

Sasha pauses then, for the barest of seconds, and smiles softly at his husband as he nods. He catches aforementioned jacket off of the hook by the door, and slips it on as he leaves; a thanks and "light a candle in th'window, I'll be back soon," tossed over his shoulder. Lykos takes in the words and smile, and returns them both softly with his own well-wishes. As he returns to his book, he wonders, for just a moment, just how Sasha would react to a bat in _their_ daughter's room.

Much quicker and in less need of a jacket, the demon figures.


	12. “Sorry I’m late.”

Dates, Sasha is aware, go _exceptionally_ better when the people end up meeting up on time. Or--at all? In any case, he's become painfully aware of two more things tonight. One, the vague embarrassment prickling at his spine when the waiter comes by the fourth time to ask if he's ready to order feels a lot like he should probably just get up and go home. Two, if Lykos bothers to show up, Sasha doubts dinner is going to be what happens at this table. A conversation, maybe--like _what the hell_ , or _was this a dare?_ The ever-popular hobby at the highschool both boys attend leads into the general teasing of Sasha James McCoy, and all 6'1" of his awkward, stumbly self. Sasha figured...god, he doesn't know _what_ he figured, but it wasn't that Lykos would do this.

The mobile phone he's settled next to his perspiring water glass informs him that he's been here for forty-five minutes. Nearly an _hour_ , and people are starting to _stare_. The waiter casts a glance Sasha's way--and Sasha wishes once again that he had less height _and_ less ability to blush so hard people want to ask if he's alright. He traces a fingertip through condensation on glass, and wonders how to get the fuck out of this stupid poncy restaurant before the tears he can _feel_ building in his throat start to make an appearance. He put on a _tie_ and found his good shoes, and maybe his parents will let him drop out and be homeschooled so he'll never have t--

"Sash?"

He almost wants to tell Lykos to bugger off--until he turns around. Lyk is flushed and apologetic; hand on Sasha's shoulder that gets shrugged off as Sasha stands and makes his posture mimic that of a smaller thing. He knows he looks stupid, with his awful crooked tie and too long limbs--his hair is a mess because it never wants to be anything else, and he's four seconds away from full kicked-puppy face without realising it. "I should go," he offers, cut off by Lykos shaking his head and reaching out to take his hand. Lykos' eyes are _bright_ , and he looks both incredibly sorry and much more excited than a half-stand-up-ee should look.

"C'mere--c'mon, just...look," Lykos says; presses an envelope into Sasha's hand that he works from pocket--people are _staring_ , but Lykos looks so fucking _happy_ that Sasha forgets that other people even exist. "Please?" Lykos says, when Sasha hesitates, "I'll--make this up to you, I'm so sorry I'm late, but _look_."

Sasha does as he's asked; partially because Lykos wants him to, and partially because he's truly curious. The envelope has worried edges; crumpled corners, history of anxiety before it was opened. Sasha tugs paper free, and unfolds it carefully-- _...accepted into The BEng Materials Science and Engineering program at the Imperial College in London..._

A glance up--back down. Back up--Sasha's smile is so bright that it feels startled onto his face. The frustration of before; the embarrassment--they fade quick and sweet from Sasha's eyes. As long as he's known Lykos, he's known that all the other wants to do is _make_ things, learn to _create_. And this--god, it's something Lykos has worked for all his highschool career. Tonight is supposed to be a first date; all built up from months of shiness and almost-kisses and Sasha stealing Lykos's shirts--but it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because Lykos is almost _vibrating_ with happiness, and Sasha _knew_ the other boy could do it.

He kisses him. Hands on jawline, noses brushing in a barely awkward tango for a moment, Lykos' palms startled to his waist and soft sound of surprise between them before they melt into it. "I knew y'could do it," Sasha breathes; laughs against Lykos mouth when the other gives him quiet chuckling, "I knew--y'fuckin' _brilliant_ lad."


	13. “Can I have this dance?”

"She looks good."

A voice from Sasha's left; thunderstorms mingling with the sweet music pouring from the stage. The writer turns, arm out before he even sees the man; Lykos steps close, against his side, and smiles up at him softly. The night is warm--but not overly, for this time of year. Sandra _does_ look good; hair falling in ringlets to frame her face, flush on her cheeks and eyes bright as she watches her wife's face and murmurs low under the music. Amber has arms around her, and is laughing at something Sandra says; newly-added wedding band glinting in the soft fairy lights surrounding the dance floor. It's just them, for now--and the family watches the two fall in love again as they mingle near the edge of the floor.

" _You_ look good," Sasha tells Lykos; quiet fondness in his smile when Lykos leans against him slightly more and hums quietly in response. "Havin' fun, love?" the writer asks; kiss to his lover's temple as they stand together and sway vaguely in time with the music. Lykos nods; looks around them slowly, like he's trying to memorize each and every moment they experience for the night.

"I haven't been to a wedding in a while," the demon admits; half-distracted by small children running past and giggling; flowers in their hair and hyperactivity content at least twice the legal limit. Sasha nods; steps back and directs Lykos to do the same as the children are followed by one of the many dogs running about the place; four-legged caretakers that love cuddles are the best things to have at weddings with small children present.

"Neither have I, 's far as I recall." The writer wrinkles his nose as he thinks; then shakes his head, "nah, not since Dana 'nd Marcus." Lykos nods and presses a kiss to Sasha's jawline; rests head on the taller man's shoulder, and looks out at the women that seem entirely trapped in their own world. "'S sweet," Sasha observes quietly, slips his hand absently down to settle in Lykos' back pocket, "they look like...they're all caught up in th'life they're about t'start."

Lykos is silent for a moment--longer than normal, and Sasha glances back down to see blue eyes bright with love looking back up at him. "I love you," the demon tells him--quite out of nowhere, but nonetheless honest. Sasha offers the softest nuzzle of forehead-to-forehead, and sweet kiss that Lykos returns with a quiet sound. The writer can feel it, every moment he's with the other, what it means to be in love. To _give_ himself like this, to not own his own _soul_ anymore because the moment Lykos looked at him, it belonged within time-scarred hands instead of Sasha's body.

The music ends; winds into a curl of silence before the next song starts up; and people pour onto the dance floor with jokes and smiles between them. Lykos stays for a moment; lingers with Sasha, gaze-on-gaze before the writer murmurs "may I have this dance, my Lykos?" A nod from the demon--Sasha takes his hand and leads him into it; just at the edge of the floor, away from people falling in love with the laughter in the air. They stay there--almost at the edge of the universe; two bright points of stars falling ever-so-slowly into a deeper understanding of what it means to know you aren't alone.


	14. “I made your favourite.”

"'S there coffee?"

Lykos' mumble is more like one word fantastically slurred together--he comes to stand behind Sasha and rest his forehead between the writer's shoulderblades; arms around waist as Sasha sorts groceries. Or--sorted, anyway. No sense in moving when you have a sleepy demon on you, right? At least, not moving _away_. Sasha nods; hands settled on Lykos' forearms as he says "mmhm, is. Lemme put this stuff away 'nd I'll get y' a cup?"

A nod against spine, and Lykos hums as he drags himself away to settle at the island instead and wait. It's not two minutes--and Sasha grins as he hands Lykos a mug a short while later and says "made your favourite." The demon makes a grateful sort of sound before taking a sip--and stops. The world hangs on a moment of silent mirth; Sasha with hand over his mouth as the other man stands and looks up at him with an expression much like a mixture of amusement and frustration. "Sash," Lykos says--and Sasha makes a very tiny, very strangled sound as he tries to bite down his laughter.

"Aye, kitten?"

Another moment, and Lykos's creamer-with-coffee-sans-coffee ends up mostly remaining in the mug--with some making a brief journey onto Sasha's face. The mug settles on the counter, and Sasha blinks; smile growing into a laugh, and he wipes his face as he interrupts the mug in it's very short stay atop marble. "That," Lykos says; eyes widening just a fraction as he _realises_ what's about to happen, "you had that _coming_ , Sash."

"Oh aye?" Sasha says; wickedly playful as he advances slow with deliberately predatory movements. "Did I now, lamb?" Lykos nods; stepping back just a fraction before Sasha dips forward and catches him with an arm around his waist. "I dunno," the writer half-sings, holding the mug above Lykos' head with deliberate motions, "I dunno that I did."

 _Lamb_ , Lykos knows, is what happens naturally to someone Sasha is _hunting_. "I have--'s _cold_ , Sash, I--"

Lykos cuts off with an impressive sort of noise as Sasha upends the mug and allows a slow trickle to empty the frigid liquid into the other's hair. Down neck, down _back_ \--Lykos presses close and moans a despairing "no," sound, all drawn out as he shivers before pulling away completely to take up Sasha's own coffeemug--full of _water_ , of all things. Sasha ends up half-covered in it; Lykos in turn with a handful of flour to the face, and it carries on as such until both men are panting with breathless laughter and flopping to sit on the kitchen floor. They're surrounded by disaster; flour in Lykos's hair, Sasha decidedly much more spotted with applesauce and creamer than he ever wanted to be.

"My favourite, huh?" Lykos says; half-laughter trapped in his mouth as he leans against Sasha and presses a kiss to the writer's jawline.


	15. “It’s okay.  I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

Sasha is rarely caught between sleep and awake this long. It's almost as if his mind is waiting; body in tandem with its control-centre for once as he lies with eyes closed and simply drifts. Lykos is asleep--another vague rarity--and Sasha settles a hand between them; fingers curling around his lover's wrist in his quietly near-resting state. The writer can almost feel it before it happens; like a sharp crackle of energy in the air that streaks down into Lykos' bones and hits dead-centre of sternum. The twitch happens first. It's an awful, full-bodied thing--and Sasha's brow furrows in his rest; too caught in the drifting feeling to wake up properly until Lykos' twitch becomes a whine, and then a bitten off scream as the demon sits bolt upright and glances around with chest heaving and hands gripping sheets.

Sasha follows suit; moves into sitting and settles a hand on Lykos' back as the demon curls in on himself. A shudder, panicked sound--and Lykos flinches hard, looks at him for a beat of a moment before moving like quickness and fear to settle half-on his husband. "Hey," Sasha breathes quietly; hand slipping up into sweat-damp hair as Lykos tucks his face against the writer's neck, "hey--'s okay. 'S alright, Lyk--you're safe."

It seems, sometimes, that Lykos is entirely caught in the mentality of scared animal right after he wakes up from these. He offers Sasha a choked sort of sound; quiet and broken up in his throat, and presses impossibly closer. "Shhh," Sasha soothes gently; rubbing slow at the back of the other's neck as he brings his other arm and the blankets up to hold his lover warm and safe. "'M here," he murmurs, "you're here with me. They didn't get y', 's okay."

Lykos shakes his head, one arm crossed diagonally over his chest, the other with hand over Sasha's heart, as if to reaffirm that Sasha is alive and as present as he promises to be. "S--" shake of head, he falls silent; clearly not quite ready to speak. Sasha simply strokes his hair and holds him close; settling against the headboard as Lykos gives him a series of full-body trembling _shakes_. A minute or two passes; clear upset very much present, and Sasha waits it out with patient holding in strong arms with eyes still closed. He buries nose in Lykos' hair and stays--will always stay, and the demon knows it.

"S-sorry," Lykos manages, after breath has been vaguely more caught, even though shivers have yet to subside. Thats's all he says--and thats okay, Sasha simply shakes his head and rubs his back with ever-patient slowness. The hellhounds, he knows, are terrifying creatures; the description Lykos had stuttered out the first time Sasha had asked what he sees on nights like this was enough for the writer to know that sometimes, some things are better left to be unspoken in fear.

"Don't be." It's gentle, and accompanied by a kiss into damp curls, murmur of "I couldn't sleep anyway." Sasha never needs apologies for this--has never wanted to be thanked for loving the demon, or apologized to for Lykos needing him. Lykos nods against his shoulder, and slips the hand up to curl at the back of Sasha's neck, almost as if to anchor himself to the world of present warmth and home.

They stay like that for a good long while; Sasha slow with touches and Lykos slowing his breathing. Night shifts into day quietly; dawn breaking through the window to cast golden illumination on Lykos--who has blessedly, for once, slipped back into sleep. That's rare too--but Sasha is thankful for it, and he stays until the other wakes; soothing touches at every soft sound the demon offers.


	16. “Watch your step.”

"'M gonna fall on my ass." Lykos is _grumbly_ right now; holding Sasha's hands tighter than normal as he follows the writer onto the ice with tentative, tiny steps. Sasha laughs; shakes his head as he skates backwards slowly and guides the demon properly.

"You're doin' just fine, kitten," he says, grin bright and nose just barely red from the cold, "c'mon--you're okay. Watch your step, 's a wee dip here." Lykos notices the wee dip very much, especially when he very nearly slips backwards. A freeze; body locked up entirely as he lets slip the smallest of sounds. Sasha laughs once more, and shakes his head; gets Lykos fully onto the ice.

Lykos makes a sound; frowns up at Sasha before it curls into a pout and he moves unsteadily a step closer. "Why're we doin' this, Sash?" he demon asks again; grip on Sasha's forearms tightening just slightly, "I can--I can do the babysitting from the bench too. I don't have to be _out here_ , skating closer to my _death_." Lykos being overly dramatic makes Sasha smile; the writer easing back on his hold on Lykos' arms. "Nono--" Lykos makes a sound that could be protest, could be despair, and grips Sasha's coatsleeves that much tighter. "Not yet, just...gimme a second, yeah?"

A grin, and Sasha shakes his head; easing away careful and slow. "C'mon, love--y'can do it," encouraging, Sasha tends to be better at that than he gives himself credit for. Lykos lets go much less willingly than either of them expected, and stands completely still for a moment as Sasha reminds him "no steps. Try t'keep your feet on th'ice, aye?"

A half-groan, half-sigh later, and Lykos ends up making progress not _closer_ to Sasha, but downwards and onto the ice. "Why're we doin' this, again?" Sasha skates around him in lazy circles; neat hop-skip away when Lykos swipes at his legs, and laughs.

"Think 'f th'children, kitten."


	17. “No, no, it’s my treat.”

There had been thorough specification before they'd met up, that this was _not_ a date. Specification from Lykos, that is--and Sasha had nearly laughed as he nodded, and attempted for a very serious tone upon agreeing. This was not a date--absolutely not. Except for how it sort of seems to be, now--because Lykos is wearing jeans with no motor oil on them, and a shirt that buttons up and _doesn't_ have a plaid pattern. It looks like he _brushed his hair_ , and Sasha smiles all blue eyes and sweet shiness when Lykos looks up at him again. Lykos can't seem to _stop_ looking up at him--but Sasha doesn't mind. It's good, actually--because that means the writer has an excuse to look _back_.

"Drink?" he asks the other man; waving a hand idly towards the shops they pass as they meander closer to their eventual target of the park to meet up with some of Sasha's family. There's a faire happening--and Sasha's inviting Lykos to join he and Dana and a handful of the children had gone much better than the writer had expected. Lykos nods, hums an agreement--it's warm, today, and Sasha is grateful that Lykos is taking care to not overheat. Sometimes, the writer thinks, the other man has fire trapped under his skin, with how utterly warm he gets just with the beats of existence.

They get lemonade--it's sweet, and cool, and Lykos' eyes light up particularly beautifully when Sasha suggests it; it seems like an easy choice. It's near instinct for Sasha to pay--and Lykos _definitely_ protests. "I can afford a _drink_ , McCoy," the other half-huffs, vaguely affronted as Sasha hands the barista a bank note. The writer smiles softly; shakes his head as Lykos grumbles "ain't like this is a _date_ , neither." He takes a sip anyway, though--and flushes just slightly when Sasha turns to him with a brow raised as they step back out into the heat of the summer.

"Did I say it was?" the writer asks--soft curls of amusement in his voice, "just figured 't was easier, I was closer t'th'counter." Lykos mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like 'my _ass_ ,' and Sasha grins as he nudges the other with his shoulder. "Hush up 'nd drink your lemonade. Don't want y' t'get heat-stroke on this not-date," he tells Lykos; slow sip before he says, tone deceptively light, "y'look nice t'day, by th'by. Y'do sommat with your hair?"

Lykos' flush goes from a light thing to a darker fade of red on cheeks, and Sasha bites back a laugh. No, this is _definitely_ not a date.


End file.
